


All in a Day's Work

by aBraveNewShip



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Swen, swan queen - Fandom
Genre: AU, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-25 00:17:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2601581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aBraveNewShip/pseuds/aBraveNewShip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Detective Emma Swan and Sergeant Regina Mills are some of the strongest officers in their squad room. They're also two of the smartest and most clever in a male-dominated environment. What happens during a regular day on the job? Who do they meet? How do they deal with the stress of the homicide unit? And, why are they always at odds? *AU/One-Shot/Lotsa Swan SwanQueen*</p>
            </blockquote>





	All in a Day's Work

** A/N - Just a semi-quick one-shot for you all! I saw gifset on Tumblr of Emma and Regina working together in each season with the caption "Detectives Swan & Mills;" I really wanted to write with that in mind. I hope you enjoy this little story. I didn't know how to "tag" this, but there is some mild harassment from a male character to a female character. It doesn't get very far, as our heroine shuts him down.  **

* * *

Detective Emma Swan marched down the short alleyway with her gun resting comfortably in her holster and her badge clipped to her belt loop. Her skinny jeans molded with her slim legs and her boots clomped against the cracked cement as she strode up to the body. Yellow “Caution” tape surrounded their crime scene as the coroner sat hunched over the corpse and hastily scribbled notes on her clipboard. A man in a navy windbreaker and latex gloves took pictures of the deceased after the medical examiner got all of the information she could out in the open. Meanwhile, several other people with similar navy jackets gathered all of the physical evidence they could find. 

“Going solo today, huh?” Dr. Blanchard questioned with a sly smirk. She clicked her pen, tucked it into her pocket, and waited for the juicy details— details she knew wouldn’t be made public for a while. 

Rolling her eyes dramatically, Dt. Swan ignored the hidden message and nodded to the victim. From a just quick glance, Emma could already make a guess as to how the man died. “How many gunshots?” 

Dr. Blanchard took her cue and passed her very rough draft of a report to the blonde. “Three bullets to the abdomen, only one exit wound. He died within minutes of getting hit.” 

Scanning the sloppy handwriting only a true doctor could possess, Emma nodded to herself. “That it? Nothing to a show he put up a fight?” The woman with pixie-hair shook her head in each direction only once. “Ok, thanks. We’ll get him to the hospital before you know it,” Emma said as she returned the clipboard. 

Before walking away, Dr. Blanchard let her curiosity get the best of her. “She’s really not coming in today?” she whispered, just loud enough for Emma to hear. “It’s not like her to send you in on your own.” She’d heard the rumors; everyone had. But, it would seem that Dr. Blanchard was the first to act as witness to them coming true. 

Emma scoffed lightly and flipped her long, honey-colored curls. “For the record, I’ve been doing this just as long as she has. I think I can handle one case on my own, thank you very much.” As the youthful professional started off in the direction of the body, a car door slammed and the clacking of heels echoed down the path. Emma didn’t have to look to see who it was, she could smell the perfume a mile away. 

Strutting down the concrete in a black, button-down jacket and slate-gray slacks, a woman with shoulder-length brunette hair made her presence known. Her badge hung on a chain around her neck and with every step that she took, it bounced against her chest. Her blood-red lipstick had been painted on with such precision, no one would have ever guessed it had taken her several tries to get it just right that morning. Chestnut eyes scanned their surroundings and took in every single detail, down to the graffiti on the dumpster. The closer she got to the scene of the crime, the more intently everyone around her stared. 

“Detective Swan,” the prim individual greeted. “Dr. Blanchard, I see you’re in your element. Something tells me you’ve already done your duty.” Glancing down at the paper in Dr. Blanchard’s hands, the woman nodded. “And I see I would be correct.” 

“Sergeant Mills,” Emma said through gritted teeth. “I thought you were taking the week off?” She raised a curious eyebrow at the cloaked figure, hoping to maintain the dignity she’d arrived with. “In fact, Regina, I’m pretty sure you sent a mass email to the entire department saying so.” Peering over Emma’s shoulder, Regina craned her neck to get a better view of their latest vic. As soon as she did, she cringed away from the sight and sucked in a sharp breath. She all but pinched her nose to block out the odor of rigor mortis. Inching closer to Regina, Emma spoke so softly, she wasn’t even sure any sound had come out. “You ok?” 

Breathing through her mouth, Regina nodded affirmingly and proceeded with caution. As someone who had always dived in head first, she wasn’t accustomed to having to check her own comfort level. “I’m fine. Now, Detective,” she said after clearing her throat, “let’s get to work, shall we?” 

* * *

As the morning progressed, fewer and fewer leads seemed to be popping up. As soon as Emma got somewhere, she found herself straying miles away from her intended path. The victim had no identification cards on him whatsoever; a wallet, yes, but it was empty except for an expired gift card to Target. Anything and everything with his name had been swiped. They ran John Doe’s fingerprints through the archives, but there were no matches. In Emma’s eight years on the squad, she’d never been so frustrated on the first day of a new case. 

During her lunch break, which she was taking two hours later than usual at three in the afternoon, Emma sat stooped over a styrofoam cup of microwave Ramen, slurping each noodle and getting broth all over her papers. Her desk-light illumination everything within a five-mile radius, she fast forwarded through each surveillance video they’d gotten a hold of, and still, there was nothing. To make matters worse, her attention periodically drifted away, regardless of how hard she tried to focus. Emma couldn’t help but let her mind wander to the surprise she’d received during her conversation with Dr. Blanchard. She’d been so ready to take the lead on this one, as well as take the pressure off of a certain brunette— that was another issue entirely. 

In the midst of her unanswered questions and wandering concerns, Emma was beginning to lose any hope of a breakthrough when those familiar high heels came clacking up to her desk. A sheet of white paper with a hospital watermark in the corner dangled in front of the blonde like a worm on a hook. “Blanchard’s official report is in,” Regina said calmly. 

“Damn. I knew she was fast, but this has gotta be a new record.” Emma snatched the document brusquely and skimmed the doc-talk until she read the last paragraph. After hours of agonizing over motives and thinking of the baddest gangsters she’d come across over the years, Emma Swan’s confidence was not only shaken, but her skills as a detective suddenly seemed dull. “Ah, seriously?” she griped, clearly disappointed. 

“Afraid so. Looks like our John Doe happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. His blood work is negative of any drugs or alcohol, including any other prescribed medications. Upon further investigation, she found very slight signs of a struggle, but nothing significant; no way to name a suspect.” Regina sat on the only vacant patch available on Emma’s workstation and folded her hands in front of her. She’d been needing something to lean on for a while now; Emma’s desk just happened to be the best place. She could sense others turning their heads with raised eyebrows and promptly stood erect. 

A man in a black vest and white shirt passed by with a cheeky grin, his leather holster missing an occupant. He folded his arms over his chest and glanced back and forth between the women. “Regina Mills,” he began. “I knew you couldn’t stay away that long. Never took a sick day in your life. Why start now?”

“Officer Jones,” Regina replied, her nose stuck up slightly at his unwelcome presence. She didn’t even bother to grace him with a fake smile. She reserved her scowls for Killian Jones, and Killian Jones only. 

Rubbing his dark stubble, the man made a disturbing clicking sound with his tongue. “Haven’t you heard? It’s Detective now.” 

“Oh, I heard,” the older woman assured, “I just don’t care.” 

Emma rose from her chair slowly and placed herself beside the bold individual. “Easy now,” she hissed to Regina. 

“It’s all right, love,” Jones dismissed, winking at Emma; she cringed away from the gesture. It was no secret that neither she or Regina, and every other woman at the station, disliked Jones. He had a certain pompous air to him, one that conveyed his utter lack of respect for boundaries. “We’re just having a bit of fun, aren’t we?” 

“Officer Jones, if I wanted to have fun on the job, I’d simply hand Detective Swan all of my open cases. Now, if you’ll excuse us.” Turning a cold shoulder to the disgusting human, Regina continued her conversation with Emma as if he weren’t there. “Forensics also noted the pattern of the blood is consistent with a pointblank shot. No odd angles or long distances.” 

Detective Jones smiled to himself and shook his head. “If that’s how you want to play it. I’ll just be over there if you need me— if either of you need me.” Walking backwards so that he could still see them, Jones only turned away from Emma and Regina when he’d tripped over his own boots. His partner, David Nolan, who was the kinder of the two, simply laughed at Killian’s misguided attempts. He also shot Emma an apologetic shrug, one she reluctantly accepted. 

“So, what, are you telling me this was a mugging gone wrong?” Emma sighed, mentally turning back the clock to just moments before they’d been interrupted. 

“What’s the saying, ‘If the shoe fits?’ I know you were probably getting revved up to form some sort of conspiracy—“

“Was not,” said Emma in a pouty tone. 

“Right,” Regina rolled her eyes. “Anyway, you know the protocol for cases like these. Just don’t forget to get a sketch of our John Doe. Captain Gold wants the picture sent to news stations so we can get an ID ASAP.” Straightening her jacket and tossing her hair gently, she started to broaden the gap between herself and Emma. “Oh, and Detective Swan?” Regina added, purposefully raising her voice so that Jones could eavesdrop, “There’s a tray full of files on my desk. See to it that they get sent to the proper units. You’ve got until the end of the day.” 

Instead of saying the swear words that burned the back of her throat, Emma went along with the charade. “Yes ma’am,” she said with a firm salute. From the other side of the room, she could hear Jones snickering to himself, and for a split second, she contemplated going up to him and flipping him onto his back. But, then again, he’d already made an ass of himself once that day without her help. 

* * *

By 5:30 that evening, two hours after the picture of John Doe had been broadcasted across the state, Emma was still lacking direction. Not a single person had called about the man who’d been killed and not a single soul had walked through the doors of the precinct and asked about him. Emma waited by the phone, ready to answer the second it rang. In-between signing off on the files Regina had assigned her— yes, she was serious— the vigilant detective couldn’t believe no one was claiming this guy. While Regina was out on another 911 call, much to Emma’s irritation, the blonde had no choice but to wallow in torture. To her slight relief, however, Jones had kept his distance since their previous encounter. For whatever reason, the slimy being never bothered Emma— at least, not directly. He stole a few glances here and there, which she reciprocated several times with an obscene hand gesture, though that just encouraged him. How he’d made detective, Emma would never understand. 

Sitting with her shoes on her desk, legs crossed, biting the end of a pen, Emma scrawled her signature on a folder marked “Beanstalk Murderer.” A case from just a month ago, the woman under investigation offed her victims and proceeded to trade one of their possessions for three beans. Emma came up with the name when she was half-drunk; it just sort of stuck. 

“Any news?” Emma jumped in the air, which was a rare occurrence, and glowered at the person who’d startled her. Regina had just returned from her brief excursion, looking even more nauseated than before. She’d lost some of the color in her face, but her lips were pressed together in as tight a line as ever. 

“Not yet,” said Emma. She concealed the bitterness she’d been feeling all afternoon; jealously and the frustration did not mix very well. “The jury’s still out.” Draping her winter coat onto the back of her seat, Regina gave her feet a much-needed break. She exhaled loudly and closed her eyes for several seconds; she didn’t care who gawked at her, she was tired. “If you want to check out early, I got this covered,” Emma offered. “You may outrank me, but we’ve got the same amount of experience. I _am_ a capable adult.” 

Regina cracked her knuckles and her neck, turned on the computer and the monitor, and put on a brave face. “Nonsense. I’m perfectly fine to finish out my day, thank you very much.” There was a snippiness to her remarks, one that she secretly regretted. 

Like a shark who’d smelled blood, Jones reappeared at the women’s island wearing that same smug smirk; Emma wanted nothing more than to slap it off. “You should listen to your boss, Swan. I certainly wouldn’t doubt the almighty Sergeant.” 

“Why don’t you just crawl back to your cave and stuff it, huh? It’d make my job a whole lot easier,” Emma squawked. 

With his hands behind his back, Killian Jones chuckled at the woman’s tenacity, though he was unfazed by it. He found it no sillier than a child whining for candy. Then again, he hated children. “It’s contagious then, is it? The attitude you both seem to be exhibiting today.” 

“Attitude?” Emma scoffed. “Dude, you haven’t even _seen_ how much of an attitude I can have.” 

“Is that so? Well, I’ve got some extra time, love. Perhaps you could show me what you mean?” 

Absolutely revolted by the entitlement Jones carried with him, Emma stood up and planted herself in front of him until they were eye-to-eye. “Here’s the thing, _love_ , my ‘boss’ is too classy to tell you this in front of everyone, but that’s why I’m here. See, you’re still pretty new so I’m only gonna say this once.” For added effect, as much as she hated to do it, Emma closed the gap between them until they were just brushing noses. “You talk to us like that again, and I swear to God, I will personally see to it that you never get anywhere near another woman, let alone have a daughter of your own. You got that?” 

Clenching his jaw, Jones looked back at his partner. David merely shrugged, making no attempt whatsoever to rescue Jones; he’d dug his own grave and now he was paying the price. And then, Killian searched Regina’s rigid features. She wore purple-framed glasses that rested on the bridge of her nose and as she furiously jotted down notes of the newest victim she’d seen. She was everywhere but right there. 

“My apologies, Detective,” Jones piped after relocating his voice. He backpedaled several inches and ran a shaky hand through his brown hair. “I’ll just leave you to it, then, shall I?” 

“Yes,” Emma said, “you shall.” If Jones hadn’t fled when he did, Emma would have given into the temptation to flinch at him the way she’d done to other guys in high school. It worked then, she was sure it would work now. Too bad she hadn’t gotten the chance to test it out. When it was just her and Regina again, Emma resumed her tedious task of drawing her John Hancock and the date on the 100th dotted line. She said nothing as she grabbed another stapled packet from the mountain of packets next to her keyboard. For the first time all day, she felt a wave of confidence surge through her system. She found Jones’s reaction devilishly amusing as she replayed it over and over again in her head. From her peripheral vision, Emma watched as Regina leaned back in her chair and cover a wide, wide yawn. “Ok, seriously, go home. There’s nothing left for you to do today. I got this,” Emma reiterated, this time, with more force. It was a risky move speaking to her superior officer so casually and publicly, but that was the last thing she was worried about. 

“Detective Swan—“

“Regina,” Emma said fiercely. “Go.” 

She and the brunette engaged in a year-long staring contest in the middle of the station, both of them giving it all they’ve got. Unfortunately, Emma had just a little more to give than Regina. “Fine,” she grunted unwillingly. “But don’t think you’ve won just yet. Until I see those cases completed and back on my desk tomorrow morning, your job isn’t finished.” 

“Yeah, whatever you say. Just get outta here before I invite our friend,” Emma motioned to the bearded man, “back for another round.” After annoyed mumblings from Regina, the detective nodded a cordial “goodbye” to her sergeant as the woman gathered her belongings and turned off her desk lamp. She left without a second-glance. Moments into Emma’s solo mission, her phone rang and she pounced on the receiver without missing a beat. “Detective Swan… Yeah, that’s right. Yeah, he is. Sure I can. No problem. 15 minutes? I’ll be here.” Emma hung up and tossed the folder aside. “Well, Swan,” she murmured to herself, “finally got a lead.” 

* * *

A little after six o’clock, a timid man entered the premises. Dressed in a moss-green vest and beige jeans, his ocean-blue eyes were what tipped Emma off. While the rest of the station went about their business, she introduced herself to the grieving stranger and in one of the official cars, drove straight to the hospital. He hardly spoke a word to the woman the entire ride, but she didn’t blame him; she couldn’t. She couldn’t bring herself to imagine what it must feel like to lose someone so close. 

Dr. Blanchard met them at the front desk and lead them to the morgue. She and Emma exchanged a curious expression, though both of them had done this enough times to know when and when not to say something. However, it never got easier. With every loved one that they brought into the cold room, their own spirits seemed to freeze in time. The sadness and the pain someone experienced when they saw a person they knew and cared about on the metal bed always got to Emma and the doctor. 

Turning at each sharp corner and walking past the swinging doors, they finally arrived at their much-dreaded destination. As. Dr. Blanched rolled out the bunk from the wall, Emma stood behind the man solemnly. “Mr. Lawson, whenever you’re ready, Dr. Blanchard will remove the sheet.”

His chin already quivering and ears already pinkening, the gentlemen called Robin Lawson tightened his fists at his sides until they turned white. He chewed on his bottom lip and stared at the covered body, too afraid to move. “Go ahead,” he muttered. He shut his eyes tight as he listened to the rustle of the cloth being pulled away. He counted to five in his head and forced himself to look down at the pale face before him. “Will,” he choked. His body started to shudder as he stared at his partner’s lifeless form. Dr. Blanchard began to cover the man’s body again, but Robin stopped her: he shot his hand out and shook his head. “No, please. Not yet.”

The lead Emma had been yearning for all day suddenly didn’t seem as exciting as she’d expected it to be. 

* * *

Emma didn’t get done until 8:30. Most, if not everyone else, had already checked out for the night and gone home to their families. But Emma stayed an extra thirty minutes. She was so close to the end of the million files. When she finally reached the last of them, the office was nearly empty; she leapt up from her seat, stretched her arms out and arched her back. The only other people there were David Nolan and Captain Gold, who spent most of his time locked in his office. 

“Looks like you missed happy hour,” David teased as Emma trudged up to his mess of a desk. In all fairness, half of it was Jones’s. “If it’s any consolation, you’re welcome at our place for drinks any time. Mary Margaret’s been hoping to invite you for a while.” 

Toying with her badge, Emma winked at the man. “Yeah, Doc Blanchard could use a couple shots every now and then. I’ll bring the whiskey.” 

David let a gentle laugh escape. “Seriously. You got our number. We could make it a double-date. Oh, wait, that reminds me: congratulations.” 

Embarrassed and relieved at the same time, Emma slouched forward. “Who told you?” 

“Who else?” David posed. “I’m married to a doctor, remember? Don’t worry, I haven’t told anyone. Unlike my wife, I can actually keep a secret.” Noting Emma’s fidgety nature, David waved her off with a kind smile. “Go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” was all Emma could muster. Although she felt bad leaving him alone, she couldn’t wait to kick off her shoes and curl up in bed. It’d been one hell of a day, and it wasn’t even over yet. 

Bolting out into the frigid dark night, Emma hailed a cab and rattled off her new address. She still had to read it off of her phone, afraid that she’d mix up the numbers or street name. It’d happened only once, but once was enough. Thankfully, the entire ride cost less than a new pair of shoes. 

When the taxi pulled up to the red-brick apartment, Emma sprang like a coil and tossed a $20 at the driver. She jammed the silver key into the lock, sprinted up the three flights of stairs, beamed at the “3A” written on their green-painted door, and stumbled into the entryway of their new loft. Slightly out of breath, Emma left her boots on the rubber matt underneath the coffee table— as she’d been trained to do— and thumbed through the stack of mail on the kitchen counter. Cardboard boxes sat on top of each other and blocked the path to the living room, even covering their newly-bought couch. “I’m home!” Emma shouted down the hall. An orange envelope larger than the rest was addressed to both of them, and Emma immediately knew what it was. Tucking it under her shirt, she left the rest of the letters unopened. 

“Finally,” a voice responded from the bedroom. “It’s getting late. What took you so long?” 

Tossing her coat onto the box labeled “cutlery,” Emma shuffled over the shag carpet and traveled down the stout corridor; it closely resembled the alley from that morning. “Sorry, babe, but my hard-ass sergeant dumped a crap-load of work on me today. I just barely made it out there alive.” The last door on the left was wide open and Emma breezed over the threshold like a ghost. With just enough energy remaining, she snuck up behind her brown-haired spouse, wrapped her arms around their waist, and buried her face in their neck. “And when I say she’s a hard-ass, I mean, she’s got a hard—“

Spinning around so fast Emma’s curls flew back with the breeze, the woman in nightclothes pressed a finger against Emma’s lips. “Unless you want another ‘crap-load’ of work dumped on you, I wouldn’t finish that sentence,” Regina warned, though her smirk contradicted her threat. “Besides, it wasn’t _that_ much. It’s the same as every other month.” 

“‘Not _that_ much’ means _way_ too much now that you’re pregnant.”

“Which is beginning to show,” said Regina as she peered down at her stomach. Through her silk pajama shirt, she could see a slight bulge protruding from her once-taught abdomen.

Proud of the bump, Emma laid a gentle kiss on Regina’s forehead and pat her swelling affectionately. “At least we’d talked about trading off before Dickhead— I mean, Detective Jones jumped in. Nice going, by the way; you were pretty convincing today with all that sarcasm,” Emma jested. “I’m still surprised no one’s told him. You’d think the guys would look out for their own,” she added. “But, seriously, about today: I thought we agreed you were going to take it easy, which happens to include you taking a break from work.” 

Reveling in her lover’s embrace, one she’d missed for the last 13 hours, Regina said, “We did. I mean, I know we discussed my taking a leave of absence, but… well, I’m just not ready yet. The thought of sitting around… by myself… unpacking box after box… without you—“

“Ok, ok, I see your point. But come on, you didn’t have to take that call. You shoulda let me go instead.” Emma felt Regina’s heart beating against she own chest, and she felt as it quickened in pace. “I take you’re going back tomorrow and everyday the rest of the week?” 

Like Emma, Regina felt her wife’s vessel pumping life through the blonde’s system. And, she could feel as it worked overtime. “If it really bothers you that much…” 

But Emma was one step ahead of her. Letting go of Regina, Emma tugged on her fingers and guided them to the space across the hall. Still empty, there were smaller bins stuffed into the corner, while a white dresser had been pressed against the wall. Unopened boxes with pictures of sleeping babies, laughing babies, and walking babies were sprawled across the floor. But, the most important item there rested just beneath the window: a mahogany crib that, much like Jones’s holster, was missing an occupant. 

When they overlooked the empty cradle together, Emma stood behind Regina and rested both hands on their unborn child. “I’ll make a deal with you. If you _really_ don’t want to take a break just yet, then I’ll support you. But, and this is a big but, you gotta take it easy. Let me do the up and down stuff like taking calls and going to the lab. You know I trust you, but this is dangerous stuff we do. I don't wanna risk anything.” 

Taking in everything that Emma said and confessed, Regina rested her head against Emma’s shoulder; she let her body relax in the woman’s hold. “All right, it’s a deal. I’ll be more careful.”

“Thank you,” Emma whispered. She swayed from side to side, rocking Regina and the baby as well. 

Sensing the shift in her demeanor, Regina turned to face Emma and furrowed her brow. “What’s wrong?” 

Never one to be a very convincing liar, Emma was as honest as she’d always been with Regina. With a preparatory sigh, she said, “John Doe’s not John Doe anymore. His name’s Will Scarlett. His partner identified him. He was… devastated.” 

“Of course,” Regina said empathetically. Seeing the way the dimples in Emma’s chin multiplied and observing the far away look in Emma’s eyes, she placed her own hands over Emma’s. “Come on, Detective Swan. I think it’s time for you to get some sleep.” 

Perking up just a tad, Emma corrected the statement. “You mean, Detective Swan-Mills?” She retrieved the parcel from her sweater and waved it front of Regina, just as Regina had done earlier. “Look what arrived.” 

She found great pleasure in watching her wife paw at the paper like an excited teenager. When Regina saw the names printed on the lines of their certificate, she felt the waterworks one their way. “Well, it’s official, isn’t it? We’re partners in every sense of the word.” 

Scooping up Regina and twirling her only once, Emma kissed her lovingly before setting her back down on the ground. “Now, what was it you were saying about going to bed?” 

Flicking away a fallen tear of joy, Regina laughed softly. “Actually, I believe it was something more along the lines of _going_ to sleep.” 

“Was it?” Emma cocked her head to one side coyly. “I could’ve sworn it was the other way ‘round.” 

“Swear all you like, dear, but I distinctly remember saying that it’s time for you to ‘get some sleep.’” Regina said the last three syllables slowly and with forced annunciation. She perched on her tip-toes, which gave her that extra few centimeters to match the blonde’s height. 

With a mischievous grin, Emma stepped aside genially and motioned towards their bedroom. “After you, Sergeant Swan-Mills.” 

* * *

** A/N ** \- I just want to note that the case in this story, Will's death, is not a hate-crime. It is as Regina and Emma inferred it to be: a mugging. Hopefully that is clear in the fic. My apologies if it wasn't. 


End file.
